In a crumbling apartment building, the lights flickered gently, while the little flies gathered around it; as if it were a beacon of hope. This hope had all but died down for Kristine.

All that could be heard was the sound of ragged breathing, and the sight of fingers fidgeting in the darkness. The trembling feeling poked at her ribs, and arms. The darkness slowly crept up the walls; where the wallpaper had been scraped and scratched off, leaving flickers of green along a wall of monotone color. Kristine had her back against the wall, in a slouched position. She slowly stood up, and crept cautiously to the door. She peeped through the lens in the door, and saw several gruff-looking policemen patrolling the corridor. Her only hope of safety, in this derelict environment. Kristine felt her body almost collapse from fatigue, and she tried to support herself using the door. After turning the lights on, she shakily regained her bearings and slowly stumbled to the bathroom.

She grabbed the rim of the porcelain sink, and stared into the filthy mirror. She had jet black hair, which reached down to her shoulders, and sky blue eyes; the only sparks of hope, slowly burnt away.

Bloodcurdling screams, the smell of blood, and a sight of fear, and distortedness. A lone child, crying in the corner of the bedroom. The child, screaming in fear, as his neck is violently slashed; blood spewing onto the walls. The sound of maniacal cackling, who's next?

Kristine threw her hands from the sink, a gasp of shock erupting from her voice box.

Just what the hell had she seen?

Attempting to make the sick scene leave her memory, she tumbled out of the bathroom, and into the bedroom.

Creak.

A noise came from the wardrobe.

Kristine's heart throbbed violently; something was sharing the room with her. She fell backwards from the entrance of the room, and rolled back into the living room. She silently scrambled to the light switch, not wanting to give away her position to anything.

Sitting in the darkness, you hear sirens, screams, and the smell of thickened, fresh blood. Several apartments, each with their own dead tenants, slumped along the wall with trails of blood. The shiny flash of a razor blade, and the feeling of warm blood on your skin.

Kristine shivered spasmodically. Why was she having these... hallucinations?

Silence.

Only to be interrupted by a sequential:

Creak.

Sucking up what little strength and bravery she had left, she stealthily crept her way back to the bedroom, after taking a dull kitchen knife from one of the drawers.

Kristine reached for the wardrobe, her eyes closed hard like a steel shutter. She grasped the wooden handle, and pulled back violently...

To reveal a single blackened, de-thorned rose sitting peacefully at the bottom, below her average, day-to-day clothes.

She clamped her hand down on it, and slowly started to tear at the petals, watching the deadened mass float to the ground.

In a fist-clenching fury, she stormed out of the bedroom, unlocked her apartment door, and stepped outside. The corridor was empty, with a long line of windows; the moonlight shining through them. All of the lights were off.

Then, a series of small sounds rang out to her right, towards the black, heavy fire exit door.

Only revealing itself a split second as it walked through each moonlit mirror, the figure looked to be wearing a black leather jacket, with navy blue, ripped jeans. It had a blood-crazed look in it's eye.

Kristine screamed fearfully, as the silhouette started a brisk power-walk, she lifted the knife up, in an attempt to defend herself. The figure was within arms reach.

She swung the dull blade blindly to defend herself.

The assailant quickly ducked under her un-educated swipe, grabbed Kristine's arm, and delivered a sharp elbow to her jaw.

She shouted in pain, and stumbled backwards, her back against the monotone wall.

Her assailant took this opening, and slammed her hand against the wall, making her drop the weapon.

They slammed their knee into Kristine's stomach, making her cough violently. This person then reached down, and grabbed the knife.

Hands firmly gripped around the handle, they plunged the knife straight into Kristine's neck, she gurgled helplessly. The attacker backed away.

She fell to the floor, and in her last dying moments, she turned towards her murderer.

There was nothing there.

She was not only the victim, but the killer.

The Last One On The Block.

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